Just Friends
by Onc3l8rWagon
Summary: Andy and Erin have a talk in his office, and he realizes that maybe they aren't what's best for each other anymore. Implied Pete/Erin, one-sided Andy/Erin. Takes place after "Moving On" and before "The Farm". Major spoilers for Season Nine, light spoilers for some of Season Eight. I hope you enjoy!


**Disclaimer: Heeeey, guys! So, I don't own these characters and I'm not making any money from this fanfic. Totally playing in someone else's sandbox! Aaaaanyways, hope you enjoy!**

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Let me tell you something: I am The Nard Dog, and I am not depressed. By any definition of the word.

Okay, yes. I am _technically _single now. Erin dumped me and skipped off on her merry way into the wild blue yonder with Plop. And for a while, _yeah_, sure, I was upset. Is it so wrong for me to have been upset? I mean, I show up after spending three months away, I would've thought she'd have been _happy _to see me. But no, wait a minute, I find out that she's been dealing with my absence pretty _darn_ well, because she's been with some other guy for pretty much the whole time. I'll admit, _maybe _I could've talked to her a _little _more than I did. But it's not like I was ignoring her on _purpose_! I was just busy. But that's normal, right? I mean, sometimes boyfriends and girlfriends just don't get to text back and forth consistently every day. Or return each others' phone calls. Or see each other. Ever.

_Anyways_, like I said. Totally not upset. I've had my laugh, gotten my revenge, and it's cool now. Now the only thing left to do is just move on, instead of moping about it. It's not like this hasn't happened to me before, right? Sometimes life makes you feel like you just got your heart ripped out through your nostrils, and you just have to deal with it. That's that, no questions asked.

But I'm _definitely _not depressed here. People cope in different ways, okay? And my way just happens to involve a lot of crying and drowning my sorrows in _a capella_ renditions of the musical score of "Follies".

Look. I know what you're thinking. "Oh, Andy's so miserable. He's been kicked while he was down! Man, how is he _ever_ gonna bounce back after this one?" Am I right? Well, let me remind you of something very important. The Bernard men have a long history of resilience (excluding Walter Jr. and the whole . . . descent into alcoholism thing that he's dealing with now), and who am I to waste good genes like that on one little break-up?

Erin Hannon can date whoever she wants. It's not my business anymore. Heck, she can stay _single_ forever, too, see if I care. Yeah, actually, single sounds good. She could just learn to be happy single, if I have to be, too. That sounds a _lot _better to me right now than her . . . being happy with somebody else when I'm not. Is it selfish of me to think this way? Um . . . it depends on your interpretation. _Most _human beings, at this point, would probably say yes. But those people are not Andrew Baines Bernard, and so I must ask you what exactly do they know about the situation?

I guess I should probably just get over it and be glad that at least one of us got out of this whole messy break-up thing in one piece. I mean, that's what I always _used _to say to her, that I would be happy as long as she was, too, right? Back when we first started dating? I'd just _seriously _love to know why the universe is making it so difficult for me to be able to think that way _now. _

"Andy?"

A voice that's probably more familiar to me even than my own (which is saying something, because there's honestly nothing I appreciate more than the sound of myself wailing it out on a strong falsetto) interrupts the silence. I arch my eyebrows, lifting up my paperwork with a flourish of my wrist, trying to look engrossed even though I've been staring at the same page for the past thirty minutes. My eyes scan a few random lines on the page . . . yadayada sales quota . . . okay. _Try to look really busy_, I coach myself, my shoulders tensing slightly. I'm not going to let Erin Hannon catch me with my guard down this time.

There is a soft, slightly exasperated sigh. "Andy," she repeats, not as a question this time. "I was hoping I could talk to you. It'll only take a minute."

I cringe inwardly as I realize that my hands are visibly shaking, the papers in my grip trembling slightly. Lowering them slowly, I fix a determined stare down at my knuckles for what seems like an eternity. At last, I gain the courage to lift my eyes to hers, trying to ignore the familiar feeling that drops into the pit of my stomach when I see her. Everyone who's ever loved anyone before knows how it feels. Like there's a lead weight sitting right there in your core, cold and stony, with enough force to knock the wind out of you with one hit.

I glance over her shoulder quickly, to make sure that the blinds on my office windows are pulled. They are, but through the gaps I can see that the lights have been turned off in the nearby room, signaling that everyone else has gone home for the evening. (I had stayed late at work today; usually I take the opportunity to go home as soon as we're all able, but lately I've been staying after a lot. It turns out a three-month trip at sea kinda makes the work pile up while you're gone.)

"Erin. Hey," I greet in return, a little stiffly. I force a tiny smile onto my face, giving her an awkward little wave, but both actions feel so unnatural that I put an end to them quickly. Instead, I clear my throat and fiddle absently with my tie for a moment, trying to think of the right thing to say. _Is_ there even a right thing to say to her anymore? "Um, whaaaat exactly did you need? How come you're still here? It's getting kinda late." I nod to the clock mounted on the nearby wall.

Her shoulders cave in self-consciously and she takes a seat, tucking a lock of curly red hair behind her ear. She lowers her gaze to her feet, tapping her fingers against my desk restlessly as she stalls to give herself time to think of an acceptable response.

"Um . . . " she begins, looking just as uncomfortable with the entire setup as I _feel_, "look, I really didn't like the way we left things last week. That's not . . . that's not how _we're _supposed to be, y'know? I-I wanted to talk about this with you and maybe sort it all out."

There's a brief pang in my chest as I catch the frustration and disappointment in her eyes. Even worse, I know that my guilt should run deeper, but it barely touches me, despite everything. I should feel terrible for being so low as to bring back Gabe and Alice, just to make Erin and Pete uncomfortable. But . . . well, let me remind you of something. I have a bit of an anger problem. I mean, it's nothing that the Nard Dog can't keep under control with the mighty swipe of his paw, especially after going to Anger Management classes (twice), but I deal with my feelings in different ways than other people. Sure, revenge might not be the way I learned to handle my anger, but it's definitely more satisfying than just taking a deep breath, closing my eyes, and counting backwards from ten, I'll say that much.

Sighing and giving a hollow, humorless laugh, I shake my head and the smile returns to my face, this time as its own rueful ghost. "I reeeeeally don't think there's anything left to talk about here. You've already made it _pretty_ clear where we stand, sooooo . . . " I beat my hands against my desk in a quick drumroll, "I gotta get back to work."

Her eyes widen and her tone turns a little more pleading as she insists, "Andy, _please_. Why are you doing this? I just wanted to try to still be friends." There is a beat of silence. "Plus, I still have your copy of _Shrek 2 _and I need to give it back."

"What?" I ask, momentarily confused, eyebrows knitted. After an instant, I realize what she's talking about - I had honestly forgotten that I had lent that movie to her, it had been such a long time ago. "Oh," I mutter, flapping my hand artlessly, as if I were trying to shoo away this whole conversation, "it's nothin'. Keep it. I've got the third one at home, anyway."

I can't think of anything else to say. I'm still holding to the argument that there is nothing _left_ to say, especially when I consider myself to be in the right and absolutely refuse to grovel or apologize when I don't owe it to her.

Or . . . or maybe I _do _owe her an apology, a little. I don't know. Stop guilt-tripping me. You're just the reader. What do you know?

"Thanks," she replies shyly, sensing my reluctance. After a pause, she clears her throat, looking up at me through her eyelashes as she says, "I'm . . . _really _sorry we didn't work out. You know that, right?"

Unable to help myself, I scoff, looking away distractedly. "Okay," I say flatly.

It occurs to me distantly that I might want to stop being so standoffish if I ever want to have a chance of winning her heart again - or even her _friendship_, but honestly, at this point, that's almost as painful as just nothing at all. Still, no matter how aware I am that I might end up hurting her feelings or making things worse, I can't get past how hurt I _already_ feel. My resentment is shining brighter than my kindness today.

"I _am_," she persists, and I can hear in her voice that she's trying not to get angry, too. Her effort is much more valiant than mine, I'll give her that much. "That's why I stayed to talk to you today, is 'cause I wanted to make sure you were _okay_. I was _worried _about you."

_Well, thanks for the sour persimmons, cousin, _I want to say, but I bite my tongue against that one, considering it a little too scathing.

"Thanks," I say instead, forcing a light, casual tone into my voice, though I'm sure my effort just makes me look even more uncomfortable than before. "But don't worry, I'm totally fine here. We're big kids, right? Nothing we can't deal with." I do my best to offer her a small smile and a laugh, but both trickle away quickly.

"Yeah," she agrees, nodding. "I'm just trying to be grown-up about this. Because I _really _think I should be angrier at you for bringing back Gabe than I actually am. He's been throwing me paper airplane love notes all week and he made me a Lady GaGa mixed tape that came on automatically when I started my car yesterday. I should be _really _angry, but I'm not." She looks up at me cautiously, then adds with exasperation, "Oh . . . wait, yes I am! Well, sometimes I feel super mad at you, and sometimes I just don't. It's confusing."

I laugh dryly. "It seems like all we do these days is get super mad at each other, huh?"

As I speak, I realize the horrible _truth _behind what I'm saying, and I hate it. It doesn't make sense that two people who can love each other and want to be with each other so much when they're can't be together could turn out to be so incompatible every time they try to pursue a relationship. After all, I have to remind myself, this isn't the first time Erin and I haven't worked out.

For the first time, it hits me that maybe it really _is _all my fault. I haven't really appreciated Erin whenever we've tried to date in the past, have I . . . ? I spend all this time pining over her, and then take her for granted once I've got her.

Waaaaaait just a minute. What am I doing here, second-guessing my own motives? What am I thinking? I didn't take her for granted. I broke up with my super-serious girlfriend for her, I lost my _job _to Ms. Mary Poppins (AKA Doctor Who, AKA Nelly Bertram - I've got lots of nicknames for her, just because saying her name makes me angry) just so we could be together. If that's not love and appreciation, then what is?

Erin is the first to break the long, uncomfortable silence. She mumbles something unintelligable as she looks down, deep in concentration, at her lap, smoothing out her skirt. Her voice is so soft and her posture so guarded that for a few seconds, it's hard for me to believe that this is even the same Kelly Erin Hannon that I'm in love with. Knowing that it's my fault that she's so uncomfortable around me sure doesn't do anything to soften the blow, either.

"What?" I repeat lamely, leaning forward on my desk and lifting my eyebrows. I really wish she'd take a Speech class or something. She needs to work on the mumbling.

Drawing a deep, shaky breath, she looks up at me and says more confidently this time, her voice only wavering a little at the beginning of her sentence, "I said that I would've been happy to go with you on that trip if you'd just _asked _me."

Okay. Normally, I'm pretty good at thinking on the spot and coming up with a good response in sticky situations. I'm socially graceful in my own unique, kinda awkward-but-endearing sort of way. On any other day, I would've figured out a way to answer this, as well, and wouldn't think anything else of it. But I'm already exhausted from a long day of work, and dealing with the fact that all your friends currently hate your guts is a _little _on the stress-inducing side, too.

So, instead of a levelheaded, well-thought-out answer, all I'm able to say is, "So, is that what this whole thing is about? You're mad at me because . . . I don't know, 'cause I didn't take you with me on the boat? I just thought that it wasn't your thing, that'd you'd be happier if you could just stay home!"

"It's not that you didn't take me, it's just . . . you didn't even bother to _ask_! Y-you'd already decided what you wanted to do and you didn't even care about how I felt anymore." She crosses her arms, though instead of appearing confident in herself or as if she were daring me to argue, she instead looks a little sheepish, almost like she's still afraid to get really angry with me.

"Whoa! Okay, wow, way to kick me where it hurts! I don't care about how you feel?" I pause, knowing that I'm dealing with this sudden flare-up of emotion in all the wrong ways. She's just trying to hold a civil conversation with me, and vaguely, I'm aware that I'm acting like a total child. Still, I can't bring myself to stop, now that I've finally gotten the chance to voice all my frustrations coherantly. "That's funny, coming from someone who didn't even _tell _me why she just randomly broke up with me out of the blue, I had to find out for myself. D'you know how that _feels_? Everyone in the whole office keeping it secret from me, and then, bam! Kiiiiinda dropped a bomb on me there, Erin!"

Erin's face flushes indignantly, and she immediately fires back, "I wasn't even going to break up with you at first! I was gonna _try_ and let things get better between us! What made me decide to go through with it was when you said it didn't even matter if I were happy or not, as long as _one _of us was. How do you think _that_ felt?"

"I-I . . . "

Again, I'm stunned speechless, although a thousand thoughts a second are running through my head. Well, I didn't expect anything like _this _to happen, where Erin actually presents such a valid point that even _I'm _not on my own side anymore. This sucks. I mean, this really _sucks_. All at once, the realization hits me that it's always been like this for Erin and me. Yeah, sure, we've had some great memories together, but for every time we've made each other smile or laugh or finally feel accepted and _loved_, we've also run each other around in circles and rejected each other, made each other feel totally worthless without as much as batting an eyelash.

The tension slips from my shoulders at last. I give a resigned sigh, pushing my fingers through my hair, all the physical and mental exhaustion that had built up inside me this past week finally pushing me to the point of crumbling. This isn't how it's supposed to go, and I'm feeling more and more desperate with every second to try and change things. This just isn't _our _story. There has to be something I can do about this.

"I guess this is why we keep breaking up, huh?" I murmur softly when the tense atmosphere between us has persisted too long. My frustration and bitter, mocking sarcasm is gone now, replaced by a stiff, empty weariness.

The blotchy red color in Erin's cheeks seeps away as she sinks back into her seat (she had become so impassioned while speaking that she had risen from her chair). It's a long while before she finally brings herself to say, "I guess so." Another long pause. All this silence is _really _making me wish we weren't so socially-inept around each other. "Well, I guess I oughta get going. I just wanted to see if . . . " she shrugs, "maybe we could work it out. Um. Anyway." She bites her lip, then glances up at me, rising from her seat once again. "Bye, Andy. I'll see you tomorrow."

I get up from my chair, as well, saying, "Bye. A-and, hey, listen, um . . . I'm . . . _really _sorry about all this." It takes a lot for me to force the apology from my throat; my ego the size of Russia makes it a struggle to admit that I'm in the wrong.

Erin considers this for a moment. A familiar smile pulls at the corners of her lips, if only for a second before it disappears, and she nods, saying with much more softness in her tone now, "Me too. I mean . . . " she sighs, almost unsure if she wants to allow herself to be happy, then giggles very quietly and adds somewhat tentatively, "we _were_ pretty amazing, right? It was fun while it lasted."

"Yeah," I say, this time much more genuinely, hopeful and hopeless all at once. It still just doesn't seem fair that it _really _has to end like this. "We can totally be civil . . . office-neighbors. Right?"

She nods again, and the two of us just stand there for a few seconds, teetering awkwardly as we try to find a graceful way to end the conversation. I rock back and forth nervously on the balls of my feet, stepping forward and stretching my arms out for a hug. It's a familiar gesture, and one that should provide some comfort, but halfway through, I'm unable to complete it, and instead draw my hands back with an awkward noise of discontent. I stand still for a moment, then thrust my hand out to shake hers, deciding that this is much more appropriate, given our current standing.

"Well . . . I'll see you around, office-neighbor," she says softly, mustering up one last flicker of a smile before turning and heading out of my office, the door falling swiftly shut behind her.

I stare at the door in silence, now left completely alone in the chilly room. Sinking back into my chair, I rest my cheek on the heel of my hand, sighing and allowing myself to slip back into my bad habit of wallowing in the self-pity pool. As I sit there in the quietude, I can't help but think over and over again about what's just happened. Something else keeps popping into my head, too, something Erin told me a while ago, when I drove to Florida to get her to come back to Scranton with me.

_"You broke my heart more recently and more often. And I think at some point in my head, it just sort of clicked that we're not meant to be."_

Maybe now it was starting to click in _my_ head, too.


End file.
